


"Please look at me."

by litmilkovich



Series: Angst prompts [1]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: M/M, idk what to tag with this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-30
Updated: 2018-05-30
Packaged: 2019-05-16 04:36:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14804492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/litmilkovich/pseuds/litmilkovich
Summary: Mickeys in jail, Ian doesn't have anywhere else to go.





	"Please look at me."

**Author's Note:**

> First in a little angsty series.

Mickey was used to visits. Svetlana came by with Yevgeny on Fridays after she finished work, Mandy tried to stop by when she could, usually once monthly with twenty bucks to drop into his commissary. Iggy stopped by sometimes, he always made him laugh. Ian, however. He hadn’t seen Ian in about a year. He didn’t expect to, but fuck if it didn’t hurt. He had a reminder on his chest, under his skin, of what their previous encounter had been. He’d seen Ian like that only one other time, the day his dad caught them.

It was a Wednesday when a guard told him he had a visit. He thought nothing of it, he assumed it was probably Mandy since it had been a while. Which is why he was surprised to see that familiar shade of red sitting at the furthest window, the one closest to the door, like if he needed to escape he could make it quick.

He swallowed air, since his mouth had gone completely dry. He walked over, sat down and mechanically grabbed the phone, since Ian already had the other end pressed to his ear. “Hey,” he said, clearly uncomfortable. He wasn’t quite sure how to act. It had been a year. They hadn’t been apart that long since he was sixteen.

“Hi,” Ian replied. He hadn’t raised his eyes from the tabletop, fidgeting and shifting in his seat.

“You okay?” He asked carefully. He didn’t want to pry, but what the hell else was there to say?

“I’m an EMT now,” he blurted out. “I— I’ve been an EMT for like.. Six months?” He phrased it like a question. Mickey didn’t dare to interrupt him, didn’t want to. He was clearly distraught. His eyes were red, like he’d been crying, or not sleeping. Maybe both. “I really fucked up,” he exhaled shakily. “There was a schizophrenic girl, we had her strapped down. I thought—  I thought she calmed down enough to let her out of the restraints, my partner told me not to and I just,” he inhaled, exhaled. “I just let her free, and she jumped out of the back of the ambulance. She’s fine, though, just some cuts and bruises. I can’t go back to work for five days, they want me to get my meds checked and I—,” his inhale was watery. “I don’t want to. I hate this, I hate this so much, Mickey.”

Mickey’s head spun with the sudden information. A lot can happen in a year, he supposed. Not for him, but on the outside. “That a no?” Mickey replied dumbly. Of course he wasn’t okay. He looked like shit and just blurted out his feelings.

Ian chuckled sadly, using the tip of his index finger to prod at a tear. “Yeah, it’s a no,” he sniffed.

Mickey made the sudden realization that Ian hadn’t looked at him once. He really wasn’t sure on how he felt about Ian finally visiting him. Was he angry? Maybe. “Why’d you come here?” He was surprised at how tired he sounded.

Ian shifted a bit in his seat, “I don’t know where else to go,” he whispered, eyes still on the tabletop. Mickey’s heart clenched. He vaguely remembered a familiar sentiment of a gangly ginger saying the same thing on his doorstep years ago. “I feel crazy, Mick. Like— like whenever I feel like I have a handle on it, it just goes right out of reach all over again,” he said hoarsely.

Mickey chewed on his lip, wondering what he could say. Should he even say anything? Was it his place? In the past, he put himself in the position of caretaker. Looking back, he sees why it was a bad move. Ian needed support, not a nurse. “Look at me,” he said after a few beats of silence. He saw Ian’s eyes turn glassy. He was thankful no one else was around to see him soften up. After a few seconds more of Ian’s avoidance, he rested his elbows on the tabletop and looked at him intently. “Please look at me,” he said softly, almost a whisper.

Ian finally did so, his gaze raising slowly. Red and watery, blue-green eyes peered at him from the other side of the glass. Eyes he hadn’t seen in a year but thought of so often. “You’re a lot of things, Ian, but crazy isn’t one,” he said firmly but with a still soft tone. “You’re sick, that’s just the reality of it,” he paused. “But being sick isn’t the end of the world. You seem like you’ve got your shit together, being an EMT and a upstanding citizen and all,” he paused again when Ian let out a watery chuckle. “Struggling doesn’t make you crazy, neither does fucking up once in a while,” he chewed on the inside of his cheek briefly. “It just makes you human, Ian.”

He looked at Ian’s face, the way the phone was pressed against his cheek with his slumped form, the tears unshed in his eyes. It made Mickey’s heart clench yet again. “Thank you,” he breathed and wiped his eyes with the sleeve of the hand that wasn’t holding the phone.

“Anytime, man,” he replied. He wasn’t sure what to do next. Was Ian going to ask him how he was? Did he even care? He supposed it didn’t matter, not much has changed anyways.

“I’m sorry it’s been so long,” Ian finally spoke up. “It’s just hard.. Seeing you like this,” he cleared his throat.

Mickey couldn’t help his bitter chuckle, “yeah, well,” he looked around the room. “Not exactly easy on this end either. You were a real shit the last time I saw you.” He meant to be kind of playful, but he sounded hurt. He was.

Ian winced, “I know, and.. I’m sorry,” he sounded sincere. “You still have the tattoo?”

Mickey did his best not to blush out of embarrassment, “tattoos are kind of permanent, so yeah,” he huffed. “Probably gonna get it covered up when I get outta here, I’ve been being good, so I might get a few years knocked off my sentence,” he said with a nudge of  his knuckle to his nose.

Ian looked slightly perturbed, “you’re gonna cover it up?”

Mickey had to admit, he was confused. “Yeah?” He said, brows furrowed. “It’s fucking misspelled, man. And look me in the face and tell me you actually waited for me,” he spat the last part of his sentence.

Ian looked down again.

“S’what I thought,” he said bitterly, shifting a bit in his seat.

They sat in an awkward silence for a moment before the guard at the door cleared his throat pointedly.

“I’ll come back,” Ian blurted. “To see you, I mean. If you want.”

Mickey couldn’t help it when the corners of his mouth twitched. “Do what you want, man. I ain’t going nowhere.”

The guard finally spoke up, “time to wrap it up.”

Mickey stifled an eye roll.

“I’ll see you, Mick. Hang in there,” Ian opened his mouth and closed it, his eyes going soft. “Thank you, again.”

Mickey smiled a little knocking his knuckles against the tabletop. “Anytime, Gallagher.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
